


Minutiae

by LibbyLune



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BWCAW AU, First Kiss, M/M, Meet-Cute, nature and wildlife photographer / seasonal chef AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24277507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibbyLune/pseuds/LibbyLune
Summary: Normally Zoro wouldhateto find a stranger picnicking at his favorite secret photography spot, but there's something special about this blond chef.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 39
Kudos: 347





	Minutiae

**Author's Note:**

> so anyway, this fic broke down the door to my brain and held all other thoughts hostage until it was finished, which luckily only took two days ^^; There's a lil' video of the waterfall that inspired the setting on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LibbyLune/status/1262580759010869248).

This time of year, there’s never anyone at the falls. Zoro felt confident coming out here late in the morning because of that; he likes solitude when he’s out taking photos, and now, when the wind off the lake is still sharply cold and the leaves haven’t budded on the poplars, there aren’t tourists climbing all over the rocks. He can get a few good shots of the rainbow in the spray off the falls, and appreciate the sound of the water in peace.

Or he should be able to. Zoro takes a few quick detail shots of the swirling rapids near the edge of the waterfall, and spends a moment stretching out his back. Looking around, he spots a family all bundled up in windbreakers and life jackets trundling up the path from the bottom of the portage.

Cursing to himself, Zoro gathers up his tripod and camera bag. The moment’s ruined, and the last thing he wants to do is listen to some insipid bunch of city folks reading the educational sign about the historical logging trade and Native American tradition around this part of the BWCAW. He’s climbed pretty far out onto the rocks leading up to the falls at this point, and getting back to the path will put him at the scenic lookout point right at the same time as this stupid family.

Decision made, Zoro clambers over a few boulders and into the woods instead. He can cut through the damp border of trees and meet up with the path a little farther along; the family will no doubt take a while gawking at the waterfall, and Zoro will have plenty of time to get back to his own canoe.

Unfortunately, the water is high this early in the spring, and the strip of woods between the falls and the path is swampier than usual. Interesting, with fresh spring plants beginning to sprout at the edges of the water, and Zoro pauses a few times to take a photo of some especially inspiring moss and tightly furled ferns, but treacherous. Picking his way across exposed rocks and roots, Zoro does his best to avoid the muddy areas, right up until he doesn’t.

One foot sliding off a slippery root, Zoro flails and tries to keep his balance, but he can’t use his hands to catch himself with his camera out. He goes down right in a patch of sloppy mud, coming back up half-covered in black muck.

More cursing. Camera’s safe though, and that’s what counts. Zoro would trade muddy clothes over a broken lens any day.

There’s no point avoiding it now, so Zoro makes much better time the rest of the way to the trail, stomping straight through the wet and muddy areas. He comes out almost halfway back to the top of the portage, and scrapes the muck off the bottom of his boots on a nearby root.

It's still a beautiful day, and a few minutes on the dry trail is enough to get Zoro’s spirits back up. The sunlight streaming through the bare birches is warm enough to make the cool breeze pleasant, and there’s an undeniable beauty in the stark light of the yet-dormant forest. Within days this area will burst into green - it’s already happening only a few hours south. Zoro feels like the entire place is holding its breath.

A game trail splits off the main portage not far away, leading to a much lesser-known lookout spot. The view isn’t as perfect, but there’s no way that family will spot it. Ducking under the lowest branches of the red pine at the corner of the split, Zoro figures he’s got time to check it out yet this morning.

Winding through the rough, glacier-carved boulders and stoic pines that characterize the area, Zoro can feel the meditative mindset those tourists interrupted returning. Wind rushes through the thin birches and poplars that grow up between the heartier pines, and the only other sound is eager birdsong. Well, that and the distant roar of the falls.

Shooting a few more photos of the craggy roots and delicate lichens along the path, Zoro tries not to get too caught up in the minutia of the forest floor. He’s the only person to ever see most of those photos - they don’t sell as easily as a well-framed landscape shot, or a good photo of the local wildlife. Still, he can’t help recording the details of every tiny life clinging to the rocky landscape.

It feels like no time at all until he reaches the top, stumbling out into the sunlight beaming down onto the secondary lookout point. One massive, wind-sculpted pine crowns the very edge of the rocks, and Zoro is so captured by it, despite having seen it dozens of times, that at first he doesn’t realize that he isn’t alone here either.

There’s some guy sitting near the edge, in the middle of a goddamn picnic blanket, with an actual, honest-to-fuck wicker picnic basket next to him. He’s drinking _wine_. Who the hell brings a whole picnic with wine glasses out here _alone_? It’s barely lunchtime.

“Fuck,” Zoro blurts, camera bag whacking his hip as he skids to a halt. Damn it, he’s _never_ seen anyone else up here.

The guy whips around, sunlight gleaming off blond hair. Zoro’s impression of bright blue eyes is eclipsed by his uninhibited glare. “Who the hell - ?”

“That’s my line,” Zoro snaps.

“What, you think you own the place?” The guy demands. 

“No,” Zoro retorts, although maybe he does feel that way, a little. He definitely knows it better than this guy, in his catalog-perfect hiking clothes and moronic down-filled vest.

Looking Zoro up and down, the guy raises one extremely stupidly curled eyebrow. “You live out in the wilderness or something, mud man?”

“No,” Zoro snaps again. “Shit, you ever even gone on a real hike, curly?”

The guy’s blue eye, the only one Zoro can see beyond his overly styled hair, flashes sharp as ice. Looking out over his shoulder, Zoro is momentarily distracted, comparing the color to the cloudless skies and myriad shades of churning water below them.

“More successfully than you, since I haven’t gone swimming in mud,” he shoots back. “Lose the path or something? It’s a straight line.”

“Took a shortcut,” Zoro mutters, increasingly aware of the filth coating half of his body. He doesn’t usually care about stuff like that, but under this guy’s critical stare, he’s beginning to feel uncomfortable with the disarray.

“Through a bog?”

“Wanted to avoid the stupid tourists,” Zoro snaps, waving the hand holding his camera off toward the more beaten path. The neck strap yanks, cutting his motion short. “Woods are wet this time of year, okay?”

Blinking for a few seconds, the flutter of his eyelashes making something in Zoro flutter in response, the guy bursts into laughter. “Scared of tourists, mud man? What, are you the local cryptic? Walking mossball sighted near the falls, I can see the headlines now.”

“They ruin the mood,” Zoro argues, hoping the smear of dirt across his cheeks will cover the blush. “Can’t concentrate with a bunch of kids hopping around, falling into the water and shit. Even worse if it’s teenagers, or a couple taking selfies, or whatever.”

“Hate people like that,” the blond agrees, expression twisting in distaste. “Aren’t you a tourist yourself though, muddy? Camping or something?”

“Nature and wildlife photographer,” Zoro glares. “I spend a lot of my time out here in the summer.”

“Guess you’ve got the gear for it,” Curly comments, glancing down at Zoro’s equipment. “Well, don’t let me stop you. Take your picture and get out of my hair.”

Zoro isn’t really feeling it at this point, but he’s even less willing to let this prissy blond ruin the rest of his morning, so he stomps over to the edge of the rock and finds a good spot to set up his tripod. There are some ducks paddling around at the edge of the falls; with a different lens, he might be able to get a nice shot for the bird enthusiast crowd.

Changing the camera lens takes a minute, and he can feel the guy’s eyes on his back the entire time. It’s beyond irritating.

“Take a picture yourself, if you’re just gonna stare,” Zoro finally grumbles, as he gets the camera properly mounted. Glancing back at the blond, he’s surprised to see the man looking a bit chagrined.

“My bad,” he mutters. “Looks like you really know what you’re doing, though.”

“I’m not some amateur,” Zoro retorts. Damn, this guy is annoying. Anyone can buy a nice camera, if they’re willing to shell out the money, but knowing the best spots, the right times to find interesting wildlife, how to use all the equipment - that’s not easy. Zoro is sure he’s spent more hours freezing in the woods waiting for that perfect moment than this guy has spent on anything in his life.

“Is this like, your job?” The blond asks, now sounding interested instead of dismissive.

“Yes,” Zoro says, adjusting the view on his DSLR’s screen. “I mean, I still have another part-time job, but yeah, I get paid for this.”

“Nice,” the guy says, sounding sincere enough that Zoro spares him another glance. “You’re passionate about it, huh? You’re out here doing what you love, not many people get to do that.”

“What about you?” Moderating his tone to something more reasonable, Zoro takes a few shots. The ducks aren’t particularly uncommon or anything, but their reflections on the bit of still water they’re patrolling are crisp and lovely.

“Oh, me too,” the guy replies. He’s got a nice voice when he’s happy, Zoro decides. “I’m a chef. Up here for a season ‘cause the shit-geezer - my old man - a friend of his runs the resort in town, and his cook quit at the last minute. Couldn’t find a replacement, so we’re doing him a favor.”

“Huh.” Zoro takes a few more photos, and steals another look at the guy. That makes sense, with the fancy picnic and brand-new hiking clothes. He’s taken photos at the resort before - got a gig doing engagement photos for some locals, even though it’s not his usual thing. Didn’t eat there, but the place is always busy in the summer season. Owner is a piece of work, though. “How’d you find this spot then, if you’re not from around here?”

“Iva told me,” the guy mutters, sounding weirdly bitter about it. “Good advice, as much as I hate to admit it.”

Zoro doesn’t know what to say about that, so he turns back to his camera and concentrates on the birds. There’s always a good subset of seasonal visitors up here for birding, and they’ll buy a postcard of any kind of duck.

“Want some wine?” The blond asks abruptly, after a few minutes of silence where Zoro nearly managed to get his zen back. 

Jumping a little, Zoro almost knocks his tripod over. “What?”

“A glass of wine?” The guy repeats, hefting a bottle with an irritated gesture. “I have an extra glass.”

“Uh, sure.” He’s not gonna say no to a drink, no matter how odd the timing is.

Moving his stuff away from the edge, Zoro comes over to sit on the blanket across from the blond. He grimaces when Zoro’s muddy clothes smear dirt across it, but doesn’t comment, pulling a second stemless wine glass out of the basket.

“Plastic?” Zoro grins, when the guy hands it over.

“They came with the basket!” Curly snaps, flushing red. “Honestly, what do you think I am, of course I would never -”

“Kanpai,” Zoro interrupts, lifting his glass at the man.

“À ta santé,” the guy mutters.

It’s a deeply unsatisfying clink, and the blond scowls as he takes a drink, but the wine is good and Zoro is feeling perfectly cheerful. This guy gets riled up so easily, he’s fun to tease.

“Do you sell your photography in town?” The blond asks, after a few moments of restless shifting while he watches Zoro drink.

“Kinda,” Zoro shrugs. “I use an online print shop, mostly, but Mihawk puts some of my stuff up in his gallery. I’ve got a show there now, if you’re interested.”

“That’s the studio on Main Street?”

“Only one in town. Does pretty well in the summer, with the tourists.”

“And who should I say recommended it to me, if I go? Or will they know who I mean if I say the local mud man sent me?”

It’s a weak quip, and obvious fishing. “Didn’t exactly introduce yourself, either, Curly,” Zoro points out.

“Sanji,” the man glares, self-consciously reaching up to fuss with his long bangs.

“Zoro. Nice to meet you, curly.”

The blond sputters, but accepts Zoro’s offered hand. His fingers are long and pale, and feel unexpectedly strong considering how delicate they look in Zoro’s grasp.

“I don’t know anyone in town yet,” he admits, looking away to rearrange something in the picnic basket. “It’d be nice to get out and see some of the local shops.”

“It’s a lot of tourist stuff,” Zoro says, but Sanji seems interested, so Zoro describes some of the most memorable spots - the ice cream parlor, a few quirky souvenir-type places, the rival canoe outfitters, Zoro’s favorite fishing tackle store, the handful of bars. It’s surprisingly easy to talk to the blond, and before Zoro knows it they’ve finished the bottle of wine.

“Are you busy tonight?” Sanji asks, fiddling with his hair again. “You should stop by the resort, I’ll cook something for you.”

“Can I take your picture?” Zoro blurts out, watching the gleam of the eager spring sunlight in Sanji’s blond hair.

“What?”

“Let me take your picture,” Zoro says, gesturing at the edge of the point. He’s all but forgotten about the waterfall during their conversation, and is almost startled to tune back in to the roar of the water. “Then I’ll come to the resort, cook.”

“I’m a _chef_ ,” Sanji hisses, but he glances over his shoulder with a not unwilling expression.

“C’mon,” Zoro coaxes, picking up his camera.

“What do you want me to do?” The blond mutters, standing with an impressively flexible stretch and brushing himself off.

“Just stand by the tree or something,” Zoro answers, removing the lens cap and adjusting the camera settings.

He doesn’t often take portraits, so Zoro doesn’t have any specific instructions for the blond. Sanji wanders over to the tree, with an uneasy look at Zoro, before turning back to run a hand over the deeply furrowed bark. Snapping a few candid photos, Zoro waits for the cook to turn around.

When he does, it’s with a stiff smile and pinched look in his visible eye. Zoro takes a picture or two, and sighs.

“Relax, curly,” he directs. “You look like an anxious teenager.”

“Rude,” Sanji retorts, but he snickers and folds his arms over his chest, resting more of his weight to one side and grinning at Zoro. A few more shots, and Zoro feels confident that he’s gotten a good one.

“Okay,” he grunts, peering at the camera’s screen to scroll through the thumbnails.

“Let me see!” Sanji demands, crowding over his shoulder. The guy smells like cologne; who the hell wears cologne on a hike out here?

Zoro turns the camera away, pushing the cook back with a smirk. “I’ll show you later. Dinner, huh?”

“Fine,” the blond pouts, before regaining his attitude and smirking back at Zoro. “You’ve never tasted anything like my cooking, I guarantee it, mud man.”

“We’ll see,” Zoro retorts, before they both pack up their shit and he has to head back to his canoe.

~o~O~o~ 

Sanji has walked past the photography studio before - it’s right on the main street of town, practically the _only_ street - but he hasn’t bothered to stop in. It’s not really his thing, and it feels kind of intimidating to just walk into this kind of place. The town has a few other artistic studios on this stretch, and they all have kind of a formal and stuffy feeling. Seems weird, for a town that makes most of its money on the summer camping and canoeing travel, but it must work out.

 _Through the Artist’s Lens_ , the sign above the photography place reads in heavy, gothic script, with _Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness and Surrounding Area Fine Art Photography_ in a more understated font beneath.

It doesn’t seem like a place Zoro would fit in, with his muddy old boots and outdoorsy personality, that’s for sure. As Sanji lingers by the front window, all he can see is walls of minimalistically arranged prints under stark lighting.

Steeling himself, Sanji walks into the shop, heralded by the chiming of some kind of _gong_ , instead of the usual bells. The studio is silent, and Sanji’s footsteps ring against the floor as he wanders through.

Most of the photography is black and white, and when Sanji peers at some of the labels, he sees the name Dracule Mihawk - sounds like a fake name; some artists are like that, even nature photographers, apparently - and some terminology he thinks refers to film photography. It’s… nice… but Sanji has never had much interest in fine art photography like this.

Turning a corner around one of the display walls, the gallery opens up to a wider space with a counter of postcards and a cash register. There’s a girl sitting slouched behind the counter, and she straightens up as Sanji walks nearer.

She stares at him with wide, critical eyes, and twirls a lock of pink hair around her finger. “Welcome,” she drawls, gaze flicking from Sanji’s neatly brushed hair to his polished shoes. “We’ve got a good framing special going on right now, so let me know if you need help with that, or anything.”

“I wouldn’t dream of taking up your time, mellorine,” Sanji begins, “but I met someone who recommended I stop by, so I was wondering…”

She seems marginally more interested as Sanji trails off, feeling self-conscious about bringing up Zoro. The entire encounter feels almost dreamlike, even though it was only hours ago. It’s impossible to imagine the muddy photographer in this sterile, high-ceilinged gallery.

“New in town?” The girl asks, cocking her head at him. Sanji nods. “Well, we’re the only art photography place around, so you’re in the right place, probably. Who’d you talk to?”

“I was out by the falls,” Sanji hedges. “Met this guy tramping through the woods with a camera, he said he had some pictures displayed here.”

“Oh! Zoro,” she says, with a sharp smile. “Lost and muddy in the forest is his natural state. So not cute.”

“That’s him,” Sanji confirms, feeling his cheeks heat. 

“He’s got some stuff back that way,” the girl says, pointing toward the back of the shop. “You’ll see the difference.”

“Thank you,” Sanji replies, and the girl barely nods before pulling out her phone. Sanji supposes that’s better than having her follow him around trying to push a sale, at least.

There’s much more color in this section of the gallery, large landscapes taking up wide sections of wall, and captivating photographs of local wildlife. Sanji spends a few moments contemplating a striking composition of golden tamaracks lit by the setting sun, and moves closer to look at the label. _Roronoa Zoro_ , it reads, with the man’s website and pricing for this photograph. It’s priced much lower than the work Sanji looked at in the rest of the gallery, and he scoffs a little. These photographs are much more appealing, in his opinion.

Bright, sunlit lakes, deep forests, starkly shadowed cliffs and sparkling rivers. Endless sky above the tips of pine trees, with a lone eagle the only mark on pristine blue. Sanji lingers by a familiar-looking waterfall, doubtless the one they sat beside earlier today, but from a different angle and surrounded by deep snow. 

Most of them are untitled, but some read _For Kuina_ in place of the unobtrusive serial numbers - a wolf stalking through a forest of deep pine needles, the head and shoulders of a moose visible above thick brush, two otters sliding into a narrow stretch of water. Whoever Kuina is, she must share Zoro’s love of wildlife. It’s much easier to think about Zoro here than the rest of the gallery, easy to imagine him behind the lens taking these photographs.

It’s obvious that the man loves this area. Walking farther into his section of photographs, Sanji feels like he’s seeing a piece of Zoro’s heart, like he knows something important about him despite having only met the photographer this morning.

He doesn’t usually take to men this quickly, especially not blunt and rugged men like Zoro, but thinking about him makes Sanji’s pulse pick up. Talking to him was the first time he’s really felt at home in this town. Or outside in the surrounding wilderness, as the case may be, but regardless, there was something oddly charming about Zoro’s obvious distraction and oblivious disregard for filth and manners. 

Sanji likes seeing what Zoro must see in these photographs, the care he puts into framing each of the beautiful landscapes. It makes him appreciate the places more himself, seeing more than just trees and water. If he’s going to be here all summer, he should try to enjoy it.

Having a friend would make that easier. Sanji doesn’t want to get his hopes up thinking Zoro would want anything else - the man seems like an ordinary, unpolished small town type, with his heavy corduroy coat and coarse speech - but who knows. It’s too prejudicial to judge people based on that. The green hair and earrings, the long conversation, the sensitive photography and wanting to take Sanji’s portrait, those might be signs in his favor. Kuina could be a sister or close friend as easily as a girlfriend or wife.

If Zoro comes by the resort, that might help Sanji understand him better, to guess whether Zoro might have a deeper interest in him or if he was only being polite. That’s something he noticed right away, up here; everyone is polite, chatty even, but not all of them mean it.

Walking along the walls of landscapes and animal photos, Sanji almost misses one slightly different section. The colors are the same, weathered grey and fresh green, iron-rich water and a thousand shades of blue sky reflected in the lakes, but these pictures capture the most unassuming details of the forests, all the quotidian minutiae of the forest floor.

Untouched patches of seafoam-green moss, the flash of a single fish, a curl of pure white birch bark, the refraction of sunlight off the water dancing on an overhanging tree, tiny strawberries nestled among the rocks, the trail of a rodent’s paw prints in sparkling snow. Sanji realizes he isn’t breathing, nerves thrilling with the intensity of this collection. He can’t remember ever being able to _see_ love like this before.

None of these photos read _For Kuina_ but several have the wording for film photography on their labels. Sanji wonders what the significance is, but it’s impossible to concentrate on the question in the face of such vivid dedication.

When they met this morning, Sanji recognized that this guy loves what he does, but seeing the results still gives him the shivers, hot and cold in turn rushing through him. It’s too much to feel for a man who is basically a stranger, no matter how well Sanji thinks he understands Zoro after seeing his photos.

Once his heart has calmed down, Sanji finishes looking through the rest of Zoro’s section of the gallery, and goes back to the register after he feels more in control of himself. He wouldn’t want the lovely shop attendant to think he’s some kind of freak.

“Find what you were looking for?” The girl idly asks.

“Of course, thanks to your gracious help!” Sanji smiles, but tries to keep his flirting to a minimum. She can’t leave her job, so he doesn’t want to annoy her if she doesn’t feel like chatting. The girl gives him an unreadable look, but doesn’t pay much attention to him as he goes through the spinning carousels of postcards.

Most of them seem to be the gallery owner’s photos, but Sanji finds a row of Zoro’s work on one of the carousels. He’s embarrassed to realize that his hands are trembling faintly as he flicks through them.

“We’ve got more in the back,” the girl eventually offers. “If you don’t see any you like. Some letter-sized prints and whatever too.”

“No, no, I couldn’t possibly impose,” Sanji hastily says. “They’re simply all so gorgeous, I can’t decide.”

She looks at him like he’s a little crazy. “Big photography fan, are you?”

“Not usually,” Sanji admits. The critical look doesn’t stop.

“I’m Perona,” the girl finally says. “You know, most people come in here for Mihawk’s stuff. Surprised to see you so interested in Zoro’s.”

“Sanji, at your service, mellorine! I’m delighted to meet an angel as lovely as yourself,” Sanji deflects. “You’ve worked here with them for a while?”

“I sure don’t work for _Zoro_ ,” Perona scoffs, “but yeah. Used to work for Kuma’s travel agency, but he automated a bunch of stuff and recommended I come here.”

“Well, I hope they appreciate you!” Sanji chirps. At the bottom of the carousel, there’s a handful of Zoro’s intricate close-up shots. He has to have one of these, Sanji realizes. These are the photographs with the most attentive devotion radiating from every detail.

“In their own ways,” Perona says. Sanji can feel her watching as he considers each postcard, but he can’t tear his concentration away enough to care.

Eventually, he settles on a simple whirling water pattern, probably from one of the mild rapids where little rivers run into the lakes around here. There’s no way to guess, with the way the photograph is framed over the turbulent ripples, but it doesn’t matter. Somehow, Sanji can picture the surrounding area clearly, can imagine what it must feel like to be there, just from this small detail.

“This is kind of Zoro’s thing,” Perona comments as she tapes the postcard to a bit of cardstock and slides it into a paper bag. “I mean, he loves crawling through mud at the crack of dawn for animal photos and all that, but you should see him coming back from taking a thousand pictures of a rotting log, or whatever. Guy’s kind of nuts.”

Sanji is fairly sure she’s right, but doesn’t know how to say that he thinks Zoro is probably nuts in a very appealing way. With a promise to come back again, he walks out onto the street, still feeling Perona’s eyes on him despite the walls of photographs between them.

He feels like a different person, weirdly conscious of the light spring breeze in his hair and the flat paper bag in his hands, like a sign shouting that he’s got a crush. Most of the town is nearly abandoned this time of year, only the locals going about their business, but Sanji still hurries a little on his way back to the resort.

It’s not much of a resort, not by the beach vacation standards Sanji was imagining when Zeff asked him to come up here for the summer, but it’s charming. Log-style cabins nestled under old pines, the loam only inches thick over the slabs of bedrock, often exposed between the stretches of red-brown needles that cover the ground. The lake is barely off the doorstep of some of them, splashing waves audible throughout the resort on windy days.

Iva runs this place, and a boys’ camp on the next lake over, and a popular bar in town, and probably half a dozen other destinations Sanji couldn’t be bothered to remember. He calls the whole lot of them his kingdom, and as annoying as the act is, Sanji has to admit that he’s a benevolent self-styled king. It’s a nice place, relaxing in ways Sanji isn’t really familiar with.

Except for Iva, who corners him after Sanji has freshened up for his shift.

“Candy-boy! Did you find the waterfall, sweet thing? Isn’t it gorgeous? If you don’t get out a little you’ll have a miserable summer… or not! Hee-haw!” Iva laughs, the braying sound grating on Sanji’s ears. “I wouldn’t let that happen to you, candy!”

“Yeah, it was nice,” Sanji mutters, pushing his way into the restaurant. It has a beautiful view of the lake, with a wide dine-out porch, but of course Sanji can’t see that from the kitchen

Iva follows him in, still braying. “That’s all?!”

“Met someone there,” Sanji finds himself saying, like the words are building up with too much pressure to contain. “Local photographer. Had a nice conversation, and went to check out his stuff in the gallery in town.”

“You had a nice conversation with _Mihawk_ , candy-boy?” Iva asks, aghast.

Really, Sanji is getting curious about this Mihawk character, based on the strange snippets he’s gleaned about the man. “No. His apprentice or something? Guy’s name is Zoro.”

“Ohhh,” Iva croons, a much more sneaky expression on his face. “Is that so. He’s a hard one to pin down, Roronoa, but I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

Giving Iva a flat stare, Sanji decidedly does _not_ mention inviting Zoro to come by for dinner. “Get out of here so I can do my job.”

Cackling, Iva swans out of the restaurant, and Sanji spends a few minutes getting organized. Once he’s sure everything is in the right place, he tucks the postcard of Zoro’s photo above his work station. It’s not like anyone but Iva comes in here, or would think it’s significant in any way.

Until the summer season officially opens, the resort is only open for dinner, and it’s slow. Sanji serves a few locals and one family who was willing to trade colder weather for less traffic, and daydreams about how he could improve the menu. Not surprisingly, the resort restaurant is geared toward fish frys and burgers, that kind of family food, and it’s stuff Sanji could do in his sleep.

He tries not to wonder if Zoro will come. If he doesn’t, it’s a pretty clear indication that the photographer was only talking with him to be polite, and that Sanji is being ridiculous harboring such a silly crush on the man.

When the restaurant has been empty for a while, Sanji sneaks out onto the porch for a cigarette, and watches the sun beginning to set over the lake. This, he could get used to - the sunsets up here are extraordinary, and the way the pine trees are silhouetted against the wash of color is enough to make Sanji wish he had some kind of artistic talent himself. Cooking isn’t the right medium for capturing a sunset.

There’s less than an hour left in his shift. It’s no reason to be disappointed. Sanji has blown off plenty of casual invitations in the past. Easier than refusing in the moment, and hardly unexpected. Zoro probably has plenty of friends, there’s no reason he would want to spend time with some random city chef who barged into one of the photographer’s favorite secret spots. A little wine and conversation doesn’t mean anything.

None of that quite stops the sinking in his chest, but Sanji refuses to think further on it as he heads inside to clean up.

~o~O~o~

As he paddles his canoe along the shoreline, Zoro thinks about Sanji. He’s not sure what it is about the man, who really ought to be exactly the type of overconfident city-bred novice outdoorsman that drives him absolutely up a wall, but Zoro can’t help thinking that he’s eager to see the cook again tonight. 

He continues to think that until he lays eyes on a beautiful patch of exposed rock that he hasn’t climbed before, which leads him to an unfamiliar game trail, which winds off into a low stretch of bog where Zoro spends several hours tracking moose through the wet brush, and in the usual way of things, it’s late afternoon by the time he gets back to his canoe again. It’s a good thing he learned to pack extra camera batteries.

When he paddles back into the boat landing and gets his canoe strapped onto his car, Zoro remembers the cook again. Looking down at himself, now fully coated in swamp muck and bits of last year’s plant matter, he realizes that he can’t possibly go anywhere until he cleans up. This is too much even for him.

He rushes through the galley to get to the apartment above it - Mihawk has a nice place on the lake, and lets Zoro rent this one when he’s in town - and almost doesn’t hear Perona when she shouts at him. Usually she’s just taunting him anyway, but this one catches his ear.

“Pretty blond came by and spent ages staring at your photos,” she says, grinning at him over the top of her phone. “Meet someone interesting this morning?”

Zoro turns to glower at her, simultaneously desperate for more information and horrified at the idea of telling Perona about his day. “Some guy having a picnic at that secret waterfall lookout. He’s new here, still had tags on his hiking gear, I think.”

“Uh-huh,” Perona drawls, popping a bubble of chewing gum. “That’s all?”

“I had all this shit with me,” Zoro growls, gesturing at his camera kit. “Talked about it a little.”

“He was here a long time,” she repeats. “Gonna see him again?”

“I don’t have time to talk about this,” Zoro says. He’d rather get out of her sight before she spots the flush rising under the mud on his cheeks.

“What’s the rush? Not like you’ve got anywhere to be, unless you _are_ seeing him again?”

Gritting his teeth, Zoro makes a run for it and resigns himself to her teasing later. Hopefully he’ll have something to show for turning tail.

“Mihawk’s gonna be pissed you tracked mud all over the floor!” Perona yells after him, laughter choking her voice.

He needs to shower, and go through some of this morning’s photos, and make it to the resort before the restaurant closes. Zoro promised to show Sanji the portrait shots, and, well, he’d like to show the blond something else from the waterfall, maybe have a print for him. It’s a cheesy gesture, might be too forward, but if the blond seems uncomfortable, Zoro can always play it off as a welcome-to-town thing.

Booting up his computer, towelling his hair off, getting the memory card out of his camera, pulling up the thumbnails… damn, he took a lot of photos today, that’s gonna take a while to sort through, but it’s easy enough to find the ones of the cook. They make Zoro wince - he’s no pro at portrait photography, but a couple of them are okay. It helps that the subject is so appealing. Easy to make him look good.

Maybe Zoro asked to take the guy’s picture because he wanted to remember the cook if they never met again; so sue him. Sanji really does look like something out of an outfitter’s catalog, with his fashionable hiking outfit and styled hair. Not what Zoro usually looks for in a guy, but talking to the cook made Zoro feel like he’s more than a pretty face.

That said, his face is very pretty. Most of these pictures aren’t any good, but Zoro still feels kind of embarrassed as he toggles through them, like he has something he shouldn’t.

He chooses one of the candids, the cook staring up at the red pine with one hand laid delicately on its craggy bark, and one of Sanji grinning and laughing at the camera. Both pictures make Zoro’s heart beat faster, and he feels himself blushing as he does a quick highlight and color correction edit. Fuck, he hasn’t had this kind of instant attraction to anyone in a long time.

Picking out a few waterfall photos is much easier. Zoro does this all the time, and he didn’t take that many shots at the falls this morning. Once he has a couple edited, he goes through the process of moving the photos to his phone, and pulls out his printer. It’s nothing fancy, but he can bring the cook a decent print or two as thanks for the wine.

He prints the portrait shot and one of the waterfall, with the rainbow caused by the mist off the falls in clear view under the sunlight. Sort of a cliche image, but Zoro doesn’t know what Sanji’s tastes are, and it’s one anybody should like.

Speaking of tastes, and shots… Zoro pushes away the question of whether he’s got a shot with the blond, and hurries to finish getting ready. It’s well into the dinner hour already.

The resort is a short drive or a decent walk out of town. Zoro drives. He doesn’t want to be any later than he already is, but somehow he ends up on a detour through an endless, featureless expanse of one-lane highway through old logging forest, and only pulls into the gravel lot in front of the resort’s main office once the sun is nearly down.

As he rushes into the resort, Zoro thinks he sees the owner a few cabins away, but instead of hurrying over with that fucking obnoxious laugh like he usually does, the man dodges out of sight. Weird.

At least the restaurant is easy to find, right on the edge of the lake. Pulling the door open, Zoro wonders if the place is already closed - it’s empty, with some of the chairs stacked up on the tables near the back - but the lights are still on, and he can hear movement in the kitchen when the bells over the door stop chiming.

Sanji pokes his head out of the kitchen, expression of irritation morphing into surprise. He’s drying his hands on his apron, pieces of his bangs falling out of place. Feeling his nerves jump at the careless details, Zoro has to look away.

“Kind of late,” Zoro mutters, feeling stupid standing in the doorway with his folder of prints. “Sorry. I could come back another time.”

“No, no,” the cook says, “now is fine. Good. Now is good. I was just cleaning up, but - do you want to come -” He gestures into the kitchen, and makes a face. “Probably not. Or you could wait on the porch, watch the rest of the sunset, and I can whip something up -”

“I’ll come with you,” Zoro interrupts. “If you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Sanji says, staring at him for a long moment before holding the door open wider. “Don’t touch anything.”

It’s not a large space, and Zoro feels like he’s in the way no matter where he stands. Despite being so new here, Sanji moves around the kitchen like he was born to do it.

“What do you like?” the cook asks, whirling around gathering pans.

“Uh, anything?” Damn, it looks like he’s already put everything away for the night. “Whatever’s easy.”

“Everything on the menu here is easy,” Sanji mutters, throwing a glare over his shoulder at Zoro. “You look like a fried fish kind of guy. Those weird kids dropped off a bunch of walleye yesterday, how’s that sound?”

“Hell yeah,” Zoro instantly says, mouth watering. Nothing beats fresh walleye. “Weird kids… you mean Ace and Luffy?” He knows they fish for Iva sometimes.

“Didn’t catch their names. Endless enthusiasm and stupid hats? Eat like an army?”

“That’s them,” Zoro confirms, watching Sanji fillet the fish faster than anyone Zoro has ever seen. “They’re like, the local icons for extreme canoeing and camping, or something. You’ll see them around.”

“Yeah?” Sanji says, flicking a less antagonistic glance at Zoro. “They’re friends of yours?”

He nods. “Great guys. I’ll bring them to meet you next time they’re in town.”

Zoro said that without thinking about it, but once he sees the suppressed, hopeful smile on Sanji’s face, he knows it was the right move. The cook did sound lonely when he said he doesn’t know anyone here yet.

While he watches Sanji prep and bread the fish, Zoro tells a few stories about the brothers. They really do get up to some shit, but he’s distracted from the task by the cook’s deft precision. His professionalism is arresting, if not surprising after the way the guy talks. Sanji even does something fancy with the breadcrumbs, instead of pulling out a box of Shore Lunch like everyone else around here would.

“So, how did you get here?” Sanji asks, as he moves from the prep station to a stovetop. Zoro frowns, thinking about that ass-backwards detour, but the cook sees his confused expression and clarifies. “Photography. How’d you get into that?”

Hesitating, Zoro tries to figure out how much to say. It’s a normal getting-to-know-you question; he’s _glad_ Sanji is interested, it bodes well for getting that chance he wants so badly with the cook, but Zoro’s answer is more personal than he usually shares with near-strangers.

“You don’t have to explain,” the blond backtracks, when Zoro doesn’t respond. “Never mind, I’m not trying to pry. Just figured, you obviously love it, so -”

It’s the quickly-hidden disappointment that loosens his lips. “I had this friend,” he blurts out, rough over the sound of sizzling fish. “When we were little. She was smarter than me, sharper too; we would come up here in the summer looking for animals and she would always spot them first.”

He doesn’t want to look at the cook as he says it, doesn’t want to see that inevitable look of pity when he tells Sanji that Kuina died. It’s worse not to say, though, because people always ask, oh, did you drift apart? Is she your girlfriend now? Does she like your photographs? 

“She always had one of those shitty disposable film cameras with her,” Zoro continues. “Hundreds of blurry pictures of the tail end of deer, but sometimes she would get a cool one. Eventually her dad bought her a real camera. She started getting really good.”

Pausing again, Zoro spots a postcard pinned up above the cook’s head. It’s one of his, a shot of the rapids feeding into a lake not far from here. Seeing it there is a shock, a pulse of heat through his nerves, and he wonders if maybe, Sanji won’t give him that oh-you-poor-thing look when he finishes his story.

The cook doesn’t fill the silence, just glances over his shoulder as he turns the fish, clearly understanding that Zoro has more to say. The blue of his eyes is as calm as the lakes Zoro paddled across today, and equally grounding.

“She died,” he bluntly concludes. “An accident back in the city. Her dad gave me her camera, and it felt right, to keep doing this.”

“That’s Kuina?” Sanji asks, hardly looking like he needs Zoro’s answering nod to know. “I saw her name on some of your photos. Do you still use her camera?”

“Not often,” Zoro replies, watching the cook’s hands as he plates the fish and a tray of seasoned potato wedges Zoro didn’t even see him prepare. “It’s an old film one, and I mostly shoot digital, so I only bring it out on short trips. Mihawk gives me shit about it, but he’s kind of a photography snob. Only uses film.”

Sanji lets them out onto the porch, two plates balanced in one hand, just as the last violet hues fade into true twilight. “I didn’t mean to bring up something so heavy. That’s really cool, though, that you can remember her this way.”

“Thanks,” Zoro says, unsure if he means for the food or the sentiment as he sits down beside the cook. Both, probably.

“Dig in,” Sanji coaxes, fiddling with his own silverware but making no move to take a bite as he watches Zoro.

The fish flakes apart perfectly and smells like heaven. Zoro’s stomach rumbles, and he realizes he has no idea what the last thing he ate today was. Sometimes he gets like that, when he’s been out all day. Things like time and food don’t matter, only the vast minutiae of life in the forest.

The first bite melts in his mouth, and Zoro only realizes that he moaned out loud when Sanji gives a delighted laugh. Scowling at the beaming cook, Zoro doesn’t stop eating long enough to talk back to him.

“That’s why I do it,” Sanji says, gesturing at him. “Feeding people, seeing their reactions. That’s the heart of it.”

Zoro makes a noise he hopes sounds appreciative, and by Sanji’s answering snicker, the point got across. The damn cook finally takes a bite himself, and they eat in silence for a while, watching the stars start to appear between the trees branching above them.

It’s a clear night, and the mosquitoes aren’t out in force quite yet. No better time for stargazing, and it’s getting chilly as the winter lingering in the lake water overtakes the leftover warmth from the spring sunlight. Maybe the cook will want to sit close, to stay warmer.

“C’mere,” Zoro says, pushing his empty plate aside and jerking his chin at the dock nearby. Sanji looks puzzled, so Zoro gives his elbow a light tug. “Check out the stars.”

Picking their way along the shore in the dark, Zoro doesn’t let go of the cook’s arm, and Sanji doesn’t try to move away. The heat from that simple touch feels like it’s spreading through Zoro’s entire body.

There’s a bench built into the end of the dock, with a row of fishing rod holders beside it, and Zoro gets another thrill when the cook sits down with barely any space between them. Almost none of the resort buildings have lights on, so the view of the stars is spectacular, an endless pattern stretched across the sky.

“Huh,” Sanji breathes. “Doesn’t look like that back in the city.”

Zoro scoffs. “Too much light pollution. I’m not much into space, but it’s a great view.”

The cook nods, and they stare into the stars for a while, pointing out constellations and satellites. Eventually, Sanji shivers, and Zoro shifts a little. Should he just go for it? This is not a very heterosexual scenario, but he could be reading it wrong. Still, he’s told this guy things he stopped revealing to anyone years ago. The cook already has one of his photos where he works.

There’s no smooth way to do it, so Zoro doesn’t bother, and just slings his arm over the back of the bench and around Sanji’s shoulders. The cook raises an eyebrow at him, barely visible, but Zoro can feel the sarcasm rolling off him in waves. “Okay, cook?”

It’s Sanji’s turn to scoff, but he scoots over and closes the space between them, fitting warm and solid against Zoro’s side. “Did you know that there’s been more than one Big Bang?”

Once they’ve finished horrifying each other with trivia about space and its corollary, the deep ocean - which Sanji knows a truly terrifying amount of facts about - it’s gotten well and truly cold out by the water. Zoro is loath to break this spell, but he would rather keep all his extremities.

“I brought you something,” he realizes, remembering the photos. “Left it in the kitchen, I think. Head in?”

“I should go lock up,” Sanji agrees. It feels only natural to take the cook’s hand, and walking back that way makes the chill sneaking in where they were touching less offensive as they go inside.

“Here,” Zoro says, shoving the folder at the cook. “You said you wanted to see. I thought these were the best, but I put a few more on my phone, too.”

Sanji opens the folder and blushes, or maybe he’s flushed from the cold, either way. “Hardly looks like me,” he mutters, peering at the portrait.

“You look like a finance guy from the city,” Zoro jokes. “Works for you, though. I liked this one, too,” he adds, showing the more candid shot.

“Creepy, taking pictures of me when I wasn’t paying attention,” Sanji accuses. “But yeah, that’s… I like it too.”

“Vain,” Zoro quips.

“And who’s in here showing off his photography?”

“Who’s showing off his _cooking_ , come on!” 

Flipping to the waterfall photo, Sanji steals an unreadable glance at Zoro before examining it. “You took this today?”

“Yeah. I mean, everyone takes that same photo, I’ve probably gotten that exact shot a dozen times before, but that one’s from today.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sanji says, still staring into the folder. “I bet nobody else gets one this good. Thank you.”

“Mostly took some of the ducks,” Zoro mutters, “if you want to see.”

“Show me,” the cook demands, coming up beside him. Zoro flips through a few pictures, trying to focus on the stupid birds instead of the warm smell of the cook’s hair.

“I want this one,” Sanji says, stopping on a photograph of the ducks’ reflections, the birds themselves barely in the frame. “I’ll send it to myself, okay?”

Wordlessly, Zoro hands over his phone, watching the cook text himself the picture. Taking it back, his fingers hover over the screen.

“And now you have my number,” Sanji adds, reaching up to fuss with the way his hair lies over his eye.

“Can I text you?” Zoro asks. At the cook’s curt nod, he puts together a contact, with the candid portrait as his picture. “Curly Cook, got it.”

“At least use my name!” Sanji snaps, shoving at his shoulder.

Zoro catches his hands and smirks. “Nah.”

Hissing, Sanji pushes against his grip with a surprising amount of strength. “But you’ll text me?”

Zoro relaxes, and the cook stumbles against his chest. “Definitely.”

They both pause. Sanji leaves most of his weight against Zoro, lips pressed in a thin line. Zoro is certain the blond can hear his thudding heartbeat.

“I should get going,” Zoro carefully says, letting go of the cook’s hands and lightly touching his shoulders. “Is this - I mean, can -”

“Can I kiss you goodnight?” Sanji interrupts, fingers curling against Zoro’s collarbone. 

Heat floods his cheeks, and Zoro slides a hand around the back of Sanji’s neck in lieu of answering. The cook strokes those deft fingers through Zoro’s hair, and presses their lips together.

As much as Zoro wants to wrap his arms around Sanji’s narrow waist and absolutely devour his mouth, see his lips swollen from it, that doesn’t feel right. They kiss for a few fleeting moments that Zoro knows will be caught like snapshots in his memory forever, and then the cook draws away. Drinking in the color on his cheeks, the ruffled state of his bangs, and the thin line of blue around his dark pupils, Zoro can’t think of anything to say.

“Then I’ll see you soon,” Sanji says, fixing his hair, the collar of his shirt, the straps of the apron he’s still wearing. When he meets Zoro’s eyes again, he’s smiling. 

“Will you let me photograph you again?” Zoro has to ask. He just can’t get enough of the cook’s shining hair, the blue of his eyes, those graceful hands…

“Sure,” Sanji says, rolling his eyes. “Now let me lock up, mud man. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Zoro is happy to eke out as many moments as he can. Today has been the start of more than just another summer, that’s for sure. He already hopes whatever this is will last past the season.

**Author's Note:**

> the number of modern AUs I've started and scrapped is _so many_ , you guys have no idea how happy I am to write and _finish_ a simple meet-cute


End file.
